They'd rather make one clean sweep, and
'blow us at the moon.' Eh? Cheer up, Rudie: so long as they're digging,
they're not blowing. Are they?"
While he spoke, the din outside the walls wavered and sank, at last
giving place to a shrill, tiny interlude of insect voices. In this
diluted silence came now and then a tinkle of glass from the dark
hospital room where Miss Drake was groping among her vials.
Heywood listened.
"If it weren't for that," he said quietly, "I shouldn't much care.
Except for the women, this would really be great larks." Then, as a
shadow flitted past the orange grove, he roused himself to hail: "Ah
Pat! Go catchee four piecee coolie-man!"
"Can do." The shadow passed, and after a time returned with four other
shadows. They stood waiting, till Heywood raised his head from the dust.
"Those noises have stopped, down there," he said to Rudolph; and rising,
gave his orders briefly. The coolies were to dig, strike into the
sappers' tunnel, and report at once: "Chop-chop.--Meantime, Rudie, let's
take a holiday. We can smoke in the courtyard."
A solitary candle burned in the far corner of the inclosure, and cast
faint streamers of reflection along the wet flags, which, sluiced with
water from the well, exhaled a slight but grateful coolness.
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